


Abelas and the Well

by resolutioninclockwork



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But this is stupidly hot, I am so sorry, I blame Effe, Masturbation, Other, Well of Sorrows, Well sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 17:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12822999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolutioninclockwork/pseuds/resolutioninclockwork
Summary: This... This really shouldn't exist. But it does, and it's stupidly hot. Blame the Dragon Age Discord for this nonsense. Or, if you like it, thank them. :-DAbelas has a special relationship with the Well of Sorrows. It wants him.





	Abelas and the Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heffalumps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heffalumps/gifts).



He knew he wasn’t supposed to be here.

 

He tried to keep his visits to a minimum, waiting until he just couldn’t hold back any longer. This night, unfortunately, was one of those nights.

 

The Well spoke to him, infiltrating his dreams and whispering in his ear when he got too close. It beckoned him, begging for his company. He knew he wasn’t worthy to join with the Well, but it had been so long, and it was so… _hungry_.

 

So, as the moons rose high over the temple, he snuck onto the well’s dais and shucked his armor. He crept to the edge of the well, keeping an eye out for any witnesses, and slipped neck-deep into the water.

 

The water glowed, as it always did, and he felt the tendrils of countless souls caressing his skin. They called to him, whispering secrets and pleas, swirling around him and begging him to join them. It was overwhelming, and it took him several breaths to acclimate to the overstimulation. They found their rhythm quickly, though, and soon he was engulfed in undulating caresses.

 

The voices whispered to him, begging him to immerse himself completely, to drink his fill and join them forever. They tugged at him, gently stroking every inch of his skin, promising an eternity of brilliance and purpose. The Well wanted _him_ , and he reveled in its desire.

 

His body roused to the attention, rocking against the weightless friction, aching under the formless fingers dragging along his skin and setting his nerves alight. _Abelas, please…_

 

 He wrapped his hands around the edge of the well, digging his fingers into the stone to anchor himself against the delicious pull of the echoing chorus. They begged for him, offered him a different kind of immortality, a boundless swirl of _this_ forever.

 

The thought brought a surge of ecstasy, his hips rocking hungrily into the swirling water. _This is only the beginning, Abelas. Only a taste._

 

They knew him. They knew exactly what to do to make him babble incoherently into the night, arching helplessly under their unflinching attentions.

 

They also knew how to keep him hovering, teetering on the edge of oblivion. _This is where you come to us, Abelas. Say yes. Breathe us in and join us._ He knew that someday he would break, that he would loosen his grip on the edge and drift into eternity with them.

 

This was not that night, however. He let them tease and hover and beg him for as long as his nerves could stand, then slipped a hand down to wrap around his shaft.

 

Nothing, _nothing_ could compare to this. His vision blurred as his nerves lit up, body arching sharply as his release bloomed through his body. The voices faded, pushed aside by the crashing of his pulse in his ears, and he knew he called out to them in wordless supplication.

 

As soon as his sense returned, he scrambled out of the water. He didn’t dare linger, as the pull was too strong. The voices were angrier, frustrated at yet another failure to draw him in, and he shuffled away to gather his armor and retreat to the opposite side of the temple to regain his equilibrium.

 

Someday they would win. He knew it. He would break his pledge to Mythal, and he would let them engulf him. Thankfully, this was not that day.

 

***

 

That day never came.

 

He had watched in resigned horror as the woman – what passed for an elf, she claimed – stepped into the pool and drank. The voices called to him one last time…

 

And then, silence.

 

They left the temple, and he was a shell of his former self. He stared at the empty well for hours, devastated and hollow at its loss.

 

After a while, when he knew he was the only remaining soul in the rubble, he stripped off his armor and stepped into the dry hollow. He stared up at the moons, aching for the touch he would never feel again, devastated that he had waited too long.

 

He turned to his stomach, clutching at the stone steps, sobbing as he let the shreds of his self-control drift away. _Mythal, you have forsaken me. In my greed I have faltered, and I will never again be whole._

 

He found himself rutting mindlessly against the stone, smooth from ages of swirling caresses, desperate for one last trace of the chorus that once called to him so hungrily.

 

The stone was unforgiving, and he basked in the sharp friction of it against his shameful arousal. Atonement, of a sort, and he cried his confession as he spilled his seed against the steps.

 

For once, he did not scramble for the safety of the dais. He turned to his back, body splayed under the moons, and begged for direction. _Mythal, guide me. Please, I beg of you._

 

And then he remembered her name. The elf who served as the vessel for his salvation. He would find her, and he would beg her to speak to the voices. To find a way to let him join with them as they so often asked.

 

_Lavellan._


End file.
